From Ashes to Alpha

Inside, the bell above the door announced my arrival with a soft chime. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans and cinnamon hung in the air, a stark contrast to the damp, musky smell of the streets outside.

"James?" Mia looked up from wiping down the espresso machine, her eyes lighting up. "I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"Thought I'd surprise you," I said, shaking raindrops from my jacket. "Slow night?"

Mia gestured toward the three customers scattered around the café—an elderly man reading a newspaper, a college student buried in textbooks, and a woman typing furiously on her laptop.

"Thursday nights are always quiet," she replied. Her phone buzzed on the counter, and I watched as she glanced down at my message. "What's this?"

"Just something I thought might interest you." I leaned against the counter.

Mia's eyebrows rose as she read the details. "A singing competition? James, this is... this is national."

"And?" I countered, watching her face carefully. "Your voice is incredible, Mia. You should enter."

"Can I get you something?" she asked, clearly trying to change the subject. "The usual?"

"Don't dodge the question, Mia," I said gently. "At least think about it?"

She sighed, turning to prepare my black coffee. "It's not that simple, James. People like us... we don't get to chase dreams."

I looked at Mia for a while. Feeling that I still couldn't persuade her at present, I didn't continue this topic. When I returned to my room, I received a call from Mia again.

"Have you been thinking about the competition?" I asked, cutting straight to the point.

Her sigh was audible even through the phone. "James, why are you pushing this so hard?"

"Because I've heard you sing, Mia. When you sing, you are radiant." I replied earnestly.

Silence hung between us for several seconds.

"And they're powerful," I insisted. "There's something in your voice when you sing them, something... magical."

The rain intensified in the background of our call.

"The registration deadline is tomorrow," Mia noted quietly.

My heart skipped a beat. "Does that mean you're considering it?"

"It means I'm scared out of my mind at the thought," she admitted. "But also... a little excited."

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. "That's the Mia I know. The brave one who's been surviving against all odds, just like me."

"I wouldn't call myself brave," she whispered.

"I would," I said firmly. "Taking this step requires courage, and you have that in spades, whether you realize it or not."

The sound of keys jingling came through the phone. "I'm at my door now."

"Will you register tonight?" I pressed gently.

A long pause followed, filled only by the sound of her breathing and the rain.

"Will you stay on the phone with me while I do it?" she finally asked, her voice small.

Relief flooded through me. "I'm not going anywhere, Mia. I'll be right here."

I heard her door open and close, followed by the rustle of her removing her wet coat.

"My laptop's almost dead," she muttered. "Let me find my charger."

"Take your time," I said, settling back in my seat, listening to the sounds of her moving around her tiny apartment.

"Okay," she eventually said. "I'm on the website."

"You're doing great," I encouraged. "Just fill out the form. It's the first step."

"It's asking for a stage name," Mia said hesitantly. "Should I use something different?"

"Your real name has power," I replied honestly. "But the choice is yours."

"Mia Wilson it is then," she decided after a moment. "No hiding who I am."

Pride swelled in my chest. "That's my girl."

The sound of typing filled the silence for several minutes.

More typing, followed by a deep breath. "The submit button is right there. Just one click."

"One click that could change everything," I said softly.

"You really believe in me that much?" she asked.

"More than I've ever believed in anything," I replied without hesitation.

A moment of silence, then a definitive click. "Done," she whispered. "I just registered for the National Singing Competition."

"Mia Wilson," I said, unable to keep the excitement from my voice, "you just took the first step toward claiming your rightful place in the world."

"Or toward making a complete fool of myself," she countered, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

The music hall buzzed with nervous energy. Hundreds of hopeful faces filled the seats, their whispered conversations creating a constant hum that matched the anxious beating of my heart.

I'd managed to secure a seat in the middle section, close enough to see the stage clearly, but far enough that Mia wouldn't feel the pressure of my direct gaze.

I checked my phone again. Ten minutes until she would perform.

"Excuse me," I murmured, sliding past knees and feet to reach the aisle. I needed to see her before she went on.

The security guard at the backstage entrance frowned as I approached. "Contestants only beyond this point."

"I just need to speak to Mia Wilson for a moment," I explained, "I'm her... coach."

He checked his clipboard, unconvinced. "Not on my list, buddy."

I could have used my abilities—even a low-ranked wolf like me could manage a simple mind suggestion—but that would risk exposure. Instead, I pulled out my phone and texted Mia.

I'm at the stage door. Can you come out for a second?

The minutes ticked by painfully slow until finally the door cracked open, and Mia's face appeared. Her normally olive complexion looked pale, and the scent of fear rolled off her in waves only I could detect.

"James!" She slipped through the door, ignoring the guard's disapproving look. "I don't think I can do this."

Up close, I could see how her hands trembled. She wore a simple black dress—nothing flashy like the other competitors I'd seen—and her dark hair framed her face in soft waves.

"You look beautiful," I said first, because it was true, and because I knew it would momentarily distract her from her panic.

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "That's not helping my nerves."

"Listen to me," I said, taking her cold hands in mine. "Remember what we practiced. Focus on the story in the song, not the audience. Let that ancient power flow through you naturally."

A stagehand with a headset appeared at the door. "Wilson? You're on deck. Two minutes."

Mia's pulse jumped—I could hear it clearly, a frantic drumbeat.

"I can't—" she began.

I cut her off by pulling her into a tight hug. "Yes, you can," I whispered into her ear. "You were born for this moment. Your mother's blood, your father's strength—it's all coming together tonight."

"Wilson!" The stagehand called again, more urgently.

"Go," I said, giving her a gentle push toward the door. "I'll be right there in the audience. Look for me if you get nervous."

She nodded once, took a deep breath, and disappeared back through the door.

I hurried back to my seat, ignoring the annoyed glances from those I disturbed. The lights dimmed just as I settled in, and the host—a tall woman with a dazzling smile—walked onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've heard some amazing talents tonight," she announced. "Our next contestant comes to us from right here in the city. Please welcome contestant number twenty, Mia Wilson!"

The audience applauded politely as Mia walked onto the stage. Under the harsh spotlight, she looked even smaller, more vulnerable.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, and I sat up straighter, willing her to find me. When our gazes locked, I gave her an encouraging thumbs up and mouthed "You've got this."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips before she closed her eyes and nodded to the sound technician.

Soft piano notes filled the hall, the introduction to the arrangement we'd worked on together—an ancient ballad her mother had taught her, reimagined with contemporary elements.

When Mia opened her mouth to sing, the first notes came out tentative, barely audible. A couple nearby exchanged skeptical glances, and my hands clenched into fists.

Come on, Mia. Let go.

As if she'd heard my silent plea, Mia's eyes opened, and something shifted. Her next breath seemed to come from somewhere deeper, and when she resumed singing, her voice transformed.

The soft, hesitant tone gave way to something rich and powerful that filled every corner of the hall.

The whispers around me ceased immediately. Every head lifted, every ear strained toward the stage. Mia's voice carried something beyond mere sound—there was magic in it, ancient and primal.

As a wolf, I felt it more keenly than the humans around me—a vibration that connected to something deep within my core.

Her song told a story of loss and rebirth, of finding strength in broken places. I watched, transfixed, as a subtle glow seemed to emanate from her skin—imperceptible to human eyes, but clear to mine.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a man several rows ahead raising his phone to record the performance.

My first instinct was concern—evidence of Mia's uniqueness could be dangerous—but I forced myself to remain calm. To human ears and eyes, she was merely exceptionally talented, not supernatural.

As she approached the crescendo, Mia's voice soared to heights that seemed impossible. Several audience members gasped. One woman near me wiped tears from her eyes.

The judges, who had spent most of the evening looking bored or distracted, were now completely still, their expressions a mixture of awe and confusion.

When the final note faded away, the hall remained utterly silent for three heartbeats. Then, as if a spell had been broken, the audience erupted into thunderous applause.

People leaped to their feet, their cheers echoing off the walls. My chest swelled with pride as I stood with them, clapping until my hands hurt.

Mia stood motionless on the stage, looking stunned by the reaction. A smile slowly spread across her face—not the practiced smile of a performer, but a genuine expression of joy and disbelief.

The host had to wait nearly a minute for the applause to die down before she could speak.

"Well," she said, her professional composure slightly shaken, "I think we all felt something special just now. Let's hear from our judges."

The first judge—a gray-haired woman known for her brutal honesty—leaned forward into her microphone.

"This... this is the most unique voice I've heard in all my years doing this competition." She shook her head, as if still processing what she'd witnessed. "Where did you train?"

Mia stepped closer to the microphone at center stage. "I'm self-taught, mostly," she answered, her speaking voice so ordinary compared to her singing that it seemed impossible they came from the same person.

The second judge—a renowned producer—tapped his pen against his notepad. "You know, there's this ancient quality to your performance. Your song has a power to it, like it's telling a forgotten story. The hair on my arms stood up, and that doesn't happen often."

Mia nodded, a nervous smile playing at her lips.

The third judge—a former pop star—leaned in. "Tell me, where did the inspiration for this song come from? It's not like anything I've heard before."

I tensed in my seat. This was the question we'd prepared for, but still dangerous territory.

Mia hesitated, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress.

"It's, um... these are melodies my mother taught me when I was very young. Old songs passed down through generations. I just... added some modern elements to make them more accessible."

"Your mother must be an incredible musician herself," the first judge commented.

A flash of grief crossed Mia's face so quickly only I could catch it. "She was," she said simply.

The judges exchanged meaningful glances before the first judge spoke again.

"Well, Miss Wilson, regardless of its origins, what you've shared with us tonight is something truly extraordinary." She reached down and held up a golden card emblazoned with an 'S'. "

This competition has been running for fifteen years, and in all that time, I've only given out three of these. This is an automatic advancement to the finals.

No need for the semifinals. You have something magical, and I want to see more of it. Congratulations, you've earned the S card!"

The audience roared its approval as Mia's hands flew to her mouth in shock. Tears glistened in her eyes as she accepted the card with trembling fingers.

"Thank you," she whispered into the microphone. "Thank you so much."